Luck
by outwittingsquirrels
Summary: Three fishermen drag a drowning man aboard. A one-shot of Sirius' escape from Azkaban.


A few miserable grey fish flip flop on the deck - grey now, not silver; their brilliance lost in slow suffocation.

'Fuck,' Bell mutters savagely.

'What d'ya expect?' Morrison roars over the roar of the storm. 'Not even the fish fancy being out in this!'

Bell doesn't laugh, just rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead. The rain is hammering down on the white and rusty orange of the deck.

'Fuck,' he says again.

'Righto, let's get this lost sorted.' Morrison give Bell an encouraging push in the back of his shoulder and drags Smith by the collar of his Man U coat. ' Come on ye little prick, stop gawking at the waves.'

Smith pulls away violently. He's the youngest of them - at just seventeen - and has the worst temper. Left school two years ago and started working under Bell. He's not a bad kid, Morrison knows, but he's hardly the brightest lad either.

'And take that fucking coat off of ye as well. Should be a Rangers coat you're wearing.'

There's no response.

Morrison frowns. A bit of slagging over football always got a rise out of the kid. But now he's just staring out over the rough sea, fingers clenched over the white painted metal of the boat's port side. His eyes are wide and bright. Morrison follows his gaze, ignoring Bell's complaining.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' he breathes. 'Is that-'

'I think so,' Smith answers.

'But he should be-'

'Dead, yeah.'

'What the fuck d'ye think ye're doing?' Bell demands from behind Morrison's left ear.

'D'you see that, there?' Morrison asks. He points out to the waves, where Bell can see, maybe, a splash, a-

'Is that a head?'

* * *

They drag him onboard with a fraying rope and an old lifejacket, never before used. It was tempting fate, Morrison said, to wear a lifejacket, and Bell laughed at him. They're all shocked at the sight of him, starved and half-drowned, face mostly obscured by masses of filthy, dark hair.

He coughs up near a galleon of seawater onto the deck, Smith thinks, and stays well back from him. Should be dead, Smith thinks too. He gasps for air, lying flat on his back. The rain pounds down on him, nearly drowning him again. He doesn't seem to care, and - still breathing heavy and hungry - he laughs madly in front of them all.

* * *

They put him in the cabin, with blankets and a cup of tea and what little food they have. Some chocolate - a Mars bar and a Dairy Milk - and a ham sandwich. He holds the chocolate bars reverently, as if he's never seen anything so beautiful. He devours the sandwich and they feel guilty for not having more to give him. When he thanks them, his voice is hoarse and quiet.

They give him a razor too, and a rusty scissors, but when he shaves the beard and cuts half the matted hair away, they regret it. They can see his gaunt face and pale skin better, and his sunken, dark eyes make him look like the skull they once dragged up with the fish.

* * *

'How the hell did he get out there?' Morrison asks, as if Smith or Bell know. They're huddled under what small shelter there is on deck, trying to shield their fags from the rain. The storm has eased a little, but dark clouds still hang low behind them. Morrison has long heard stories of tremendous storms just a little north and west of Kinlochbervie. Of a strange island veiled in mist and dark.

'How the hell,' he says again.

* * *

They're not far from the dock when Bell goes in to talk to him.

'The lads are wondering just how you got to swimming miles from shore on a day like today,' Bell says. The man looks uncomfortable immediately.

'I'll be gone soon as we reach land,' he says quickly. He's all tense and wary, like he's considering his options. His eyes dart to the door behind Bell.

'Too right you will, Mr Black,' Bell nods. The door shuts with a snap, as the boat rocks. The man freezes, and Bell knows he's right in his guess.

'You made quite the stir when you were arrested,' he says, words quiet and measured. Though that is only part of the reason he recognised the escapee. His father's stories ring in his ears. (And his body swings back and forth in the kitchen, over the remains of breakfast.)

'How- how did you- you're a wizard?' Black stumbled over words and stands. He has to bend a little in the low-ceilinged cabin.

'Sit down,' Bell says tersely. 'I'm a squib.'

'Jesus fucking-' Black sits, runs a hand through his hair with a humourless chuckle. 'Of all the rubbish luck-'

'You're bloody lucky you were found at all,' Bell interrupts, harsh and frowning. Black looks up, a slight sneer across his face. But Bell can see the fear in his eyes.

'Oh yes, my apologies for hoping I might finally be shot of that fucking place,' Black retorts. His voice is uneven and shakes like his hands. He meets Bell's eye. 'Please- I don't know what I can do to- just please. I swear I didn't do what they said. Just- just let me- I'll disappear as soon as we reach land-'

'They all say they're innocent though, right?' Bell asks. He knows already though, doesn't need to ask. 'After long enough.'

'How do you- I am innocent.' Said like a mantra, like he's trying to persuade himself. Bell doesn't believe him - innocent men don't spend twelve years in prison - but he's seen and heard of enough who lost their minds to that place that he doesn't want to see another. (Like his father, a true innocent. Spent years imprisoned to feed his family.)

'The Ministry will send people round soon enough,' Bell says. He's being stupid. Stupid enough to get people killed, and he'll regret it later but for now, Black's desperation, and his age - he seems so young to have spent so long imprisoned - have made him an idiot.

'I'll tell them all I know. You'll have maybe a day, if you're lucky, to disappear.'

Black takes a sharp intake of breath. He cannot believe his luck, Bell thinks.

'Thank you, you've no idea-'

'I daresay I might,' Bell cuts him off. He has work to do. He doesn't look at Black as he leaves, and when Morrison asks what he was doing, he doesn't answer.

* * *

Bell doesn't take much notice of wizarding news - never has, though his wife calls it bitterness and his daughter will live and die in that world - but he tries to keep an ear out for Black. He doesn't know whether he wants the man caught or not. A year later, he thinks it's relief he feels when he hears of Black's close escape. Followed not long after by guilt when that exclusive club of Azkaban escapees is swelled by ten. And news of his death, his innocence, that's just a surprise and one that shouldn't shock him so awfully. Black's not the first innocent to find his way to that prison.

_AN: not so sure of the ending… Would love some feedback though!_


End file.
